


I just need enough of you to dull the pain ('till we're saints just swimming in our sins again)

by wewillalwaysenduphere



Series: Oh Lord, Heaven knows we belong way down below [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bondage, Character Study, Impala, M/M, Mark of Cain, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Painplay, Really this is just how I think they had sex through the seasons, Rough Sex, Soulmates Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Switching, Trials of Hell, sex as a coping mechanism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7265848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wewillalwaysenduphere/pseuds/wewillalwaysenduphere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’d wear masks all day but never during the night. Sam would strip Dean bare and Dean would make Sam admit to all his secrets. Sex was probably an unhealthy coping mechanism. </p>
<p>But it was the only one that worked for them.</p>
<p>(Or: Sam wasn’t really good at gentle. Dean didn’t mind. He’d never known gentle.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I just need enough of you to dull the pain ('till we're saints just swimming in our sins again)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I have legit no idea where this came from. It was supposed to be completely different but then...then I listened to Bad Moon Rising for like two hours and this happened.  
> Title is taken from Fall Out Boy's Twin Skeletons.
> 
> Hope someone still enjoys it :)

Sam and Dean had stopped trying to define their relationship years ago.

They were brothers, they were fuck buddies, sometimes lovers, sometimes enemies, but never without the other.

When Dean was really pissed at Sam, he’d bend him over the next available surface and fuck him with minimal prep. But he would never leave.

Sam left Dean a couple times. Stanford, during the scarecrow case, later on, when he couldn’t trust himself anymore. There was darkness inside him, darkness Dean didn’t see.

When Sam had to forget about what he was, about the demon blood tainting him he’d make love to Dean, prove to himself he wasn’t a monster, he would spread Dean out on his bed, slowly take off his clothes, rim him until his big brother was sobbing and begging for his cock, and then he’d fuck him until Dean was boneless and oversensitive, until his jaw was slack and his ass would be sore although Sam had started out so gentle.

Sam wasn’t really good at gentle. Dean didn’t mind. He’d never known gentle. All his life he had been fighting, and when they took each other to bed, it was rough and it was hard, but first and foremost it was always real.

They’d wear masks all day but never during the night. Sam would strip Dean bare and Dean would make Sam admit to all his secrets. Sex was probably an unhealthy coping mechanism.

But it was the only one that worked for them.

It wasn’t like they were exclusive, hell no. Dean liked to fuck around, Sam appreciated the occasional diversion. They owned each other, deeper than skin, deeper than bones, they owned each other’s blood and soul, mind and spirit – what did it matter they fucked someone else when they felt like it? It was purely corporal. Pleasure and lust the only feelings involved.

When they were with each other it was so different.

Sam would lean over when Dean was driving, blow him on the road, just to feel Dean stiffen up, the Impala swerving when he jerked on the wheel. If he had to choose how he wanted to die, this would be it. Dean crashing them into a tree while he was sucking him off.

Dean would throw him into the bed whenever a case went bad, back in the day when they were still hunting Azazel, when Sam was close to losing it because of his visions. Dean would pin him to the mattress and show him he was there. Was present, skin touching skin, sweat mixing with come, Dean covering every inch of his body.

Dean did the same when the hallucination of Lucifer came back to torture Sam. Maybe a little harder, maybe involving a little more blood, more bites, maybe with actual knives and cuffs but Sam never complained. Only when he was overflowing with Dean was he able to forget about Lucifer.

It wasn’t like Sam was the one who liked pain. He just needed it. Dean was the one who got off on it. Had always liked it, had Sam hold him down with just his powers, no hands on him, no shackles, just Sam’s power pressing into him, hot and invasive and so much deeper, like fire burning through his skin, setting his nerve endings aflame. Dean had burned to death more often after hell than when he was there. Sam would offer to stop, but Dean told him to keep going. So Sam kept going until Dean lost his consciousness. After a while they both knew he could take it and although Sam might never understand it, Dean came the hardest when he did this with him.

That was after Dean went to hell for the first time. After purgatory it became worse. He’d had Benny in there and they’d had some fun, but it was nothing to what he and Sam did once he was back. Until this point Dean had always liked the pain, but he’d never been submissive.

After purgatory Sam broke him down. It was like soulless Sam all over again. All command, whip-like tongue, cold hard eyes. Dean on his knees, on all fours, on his stomach, on his back, pressed against a wall, bend over a table. Sam behind him, on top of him, inside him, Sam’s teeth biting, marking, claiming, hands bruising his skin and shattering his inhibitions.

No one had to know what went on behind closed doors.

They spent more time in the bunker’s dungeon than anywhere else. Dean chained to this chair, cock ring on, not allowed to come for days while Sam was having his way with him, until he was reduced to twitching muscles, pain and pleas. Until he forgot who he was, until Sam was all he saw.

Until Sam loosened his shackles and caught him when he fell, unable to hold himself upright. Until Sam carried him to their room and asked him _hey, big brother, you okay?_ And Dean would murmur _love you, Sammy,_ and that would be that. (Of course Sam meant _Dean, I love you, you are everything that counts and you are all I need_ and Dean meant _Thank you for reminding me, sometimes I forget_ but they both knew, so they didn’t need to say it.)

It changed when the trials of hell began taking their toll on Sam. He’d sleep half the day, and Dean would kiss every inch of his body, would press promises into his skin with his lips, would swear it would be okay, never meeting Sammy’s eyes because they both knew he was lying, they both knew where this would end, but Dean would worship Sam’s thinning body like it was the shrine of gods.

Dean would lick hellhound blood of his little brother, the taste of hell and purgatory, and ultimately the stale aroma of defeat. (He’d rather have this world burning and collapsing than Sam dead in his arms.)

When Dean took on the mark he became so aggressive Sam feared he might do something stupid. So he offered himself up willingly, let Dean carve him up and soil the sheets with his blood, let Dean bite into his skin until it broke, let Dean make him scream until his voice gave up, let Dean pull his hair out, made place inside his own body when Dean couldn’t stand his own anymore.

But when Dean turned in the end, into a demon, it was Sam tying him up again. It was Sam making him take whatever he dished out. It was Sam draining the black out of Dean’s eyes. It was Sam catching Dean and carrying him to bed, not caring how many people he had killed.

And if they were being honest, they’d rather have the darkness destroy the universe than being without each other. Amara would claim Dean for herself and Dean would kneel before Sam and beg for forgiveness. And Sam would grab Dean’s hair and fuck his throat till he choked, he’d come all over his face and whisper softly “It’s okay.”

And Dean would accept Sam fucking whoever he wanted, but _not in his damn car_. So after that bitch left baby he fucked his little brother into the backseat, without lube and Sam writhed and begged and moaned but Dean didn’t care.

They were each others, and they owned not only the other’s skin. Dean owned Sam’s spirit, Sam Dean’s mind. Dean Sam’s bones and Sam Dean’s blood. Dean Sam’s darkness and Sam Dean’s badness. Dean Sam’s hope and Sam Dean’s assertiveness. Dean Sam’s tenacity and Sam Dean’s strength.

They were so tangled up in each other neither demons nor angels could separate them, nor the devil or god himself.

And each fucked up situation they went through together just bound them tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are life, sweetiepies!   
> Leave some and I'll love you forever! xo


End file.
